


A Togetherness

by RavenWings



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: But mostly just comfort, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this instead of working on research papers, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in MCC, Runaway AU but everyone gets involved?, SBI + Tubbo are family in this, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Tubbo and Tommy are best friends and brothers, although it's mostly just implied, he's doing his best, philza is a good dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWings/pseuds/RavenWings
Summary: It goes like this: Dream gives them an ultimatum that will only ever end in heartbreak and demands an answer. Tubbo is tired of fighting and watching everyone he cares about get hurt. They all are.They make their own way out.(They choose each other. They choose love.)L'Manberg is a togetherness, not a place. So long as they stay together, then L'Manberg lives on.------------------------Or, in which the Exile Arc takes a turn when the people of L'Manberg decide to have a Runaway arc, instead.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Niki | Nihachu & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Tommyinnit & Tubbo
Comments: 56
Kudos: 435
Collections: Cheshire's MCYT recs!





	A Togetherness

**Author's Note:**

> I have a habit of speedrunning fix-it fics at odd points of time; I hope y'all enjoy this one as much I have enjoyed writing it. I'm still working on the next chapter of Home is Not a Place, but I wanted to get this posted sooner rather than later. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

It does not start like this: Dream looks a sixteen-year-old ~~_survivor-fighter-soldier-boy_~~ president in the eyes and gives him an ultimatum: the exile of his best friend for the freedom of the nation that has been thrust into his hands. 

_(The boy is exhausted from all of the fighting, all of the war. He’s not sure how he got here. He never asked for this. He didn’t want to be put into to power, to be handed all of this responsibility - and a target on his back - but it was placed on his shoulders and he is doing his best not to be crushed beneath the weight. He thinks of Techno’s Greek myths, of Atlas, of the pain of holding up the sky, and he wonders if it would feel like this.)_

It starts before that. Not with the crater, with the former president pushing a button with a smile on his face despite the pain and loss and suffering everyone has gone through to build the nation in the first place. They took a war-torn landscape and crafted something good, something beautiful, something like a home, and all of that is gone now. They are left with a blank slate, a new start, and they hope and hope and _pray_ that this time - this time it will last.

( _It won’t. A kingdom built at the doorstep of a dragon’s lair is destined to be burned to the ground. The only question of inevitability is how long it takes to reach the fated end. How long will the buildings resist the flames that swallow them whole? How long will the people fight back before the heavy smoke steals the last breath from their lungs?_ )

No, it’s before that. Before the rise and fall of the nation, before the election and the exile, the walls and the wars. It does not start with the conflict or the conclusion. It does not begin with a declaration of independence or a declaration of war. It does not begin with struggle, or chaos, or violence.

( _Violence is a language and it is universal but it is not the native tongue of this narrative. This story is not about blood that is spilled within its pages, it is about the hearts of those it is spilled for._ )

It does not begin with the discs. It begins before them, before they have names and meaning and value. 

It starts like this: there are two boys, and they are best friends, brothers in everything but flesh and blood. They make a pact - insignificant, at the time, made with bright grins and innocence and eager honesty - to stick together, through every trial, every conflict, every adventure. 

_(They do not know the weight this promise will hold when they make it. They do not understand the lengths that they will go to for each other when they are older - older, but still far too young to have seen and done the things that they have. They know they would die for each other in a heartbeat; they have yet to understand the anchor that living for each other will provide.)_

It starts with a promise. It will end with it, too.

* * *

**_Dream. By the time you are reading this, we should be long gone, if everything has gone according to plan. If you are reading this, then it probably has._ **

It goes like this: 

After Dream’s ultimatum, after the fighting stops, after the others all scatter to their own homes to wrestle over the decision they have been presented with, leaving Tubbo alone, he does not sleep. Even if the light is fading from the sky and the weariness that has dragged at his bones for months ( _he has forgotten what it feels like to be rested; he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks)_ is threatening to pull him under, his thoughts are far, far too restless for him to attempt sleep now. Instead, he climbs up the new walls surrounding the nation he has been entrusted to protect, settles cross-legged not far from the van, and does his best not to cry.

It’s a difficult task. He wants to cry, or scream, or-or-

He takes a deep breath. Then a second. Adjusts his position to draw his knees up close to his chest. He exhales. He does not feel any better. The ache in his chest does not fade. 

( _The ache has been there so long that he forgets about it, sometimes. He does not remember where it came from. He does not know if it will ever go away._ )

Tubbo hates this, more than anything. He never asked for any of this and now he was being faced with an impossible choice. After everything that they have fought for, after everything they have sacrificed, he cannot let L’Manberg down. He swore to protect it, but-

That isn’t the only promise he has made. Once, so long ago it feels like another lifetime, two boys made a promise. Neither one of them plan to break it. 

( _He has come too far to break it. He will keep it, or he will die trying, and he has no plans to die now_.)

The breeze picks up, briefly, ruffling his hair and sending a shiver dancing down his spine. It’s colder out tonight than it has been in a while, and his jacket is not enough to keep him warm. 

“ _L’manberg_ _can be independent, but_ _L’manberg_ _can’t be free.”_

Dream’s words haunt him. He can’t stop hearing, them, over and over, every time his thoughts spiral back to the afternoon’s confrontation. Even in his own frustration and anger with the situation ( _he was so tired of being spoken over, of being ignored; if they had just listened for one second, then maybe-_ ), he had been taken aback by the fire in Dream’s voice. Tubbo has only heard him angry - truly angry - a couple of times. The first was during the revolution, and that, too, had stuck with him for a while afterwards. 

He gets the feeling this will stay with him a little longer. 

_Independent. Not free_. It’s an oxymoron, really, one that Tubbo has wrestled with for hours- independence and freedom went hand-in-hand, don’t they? Not quite synonymous, but intrinsically linked. There is something about it, though, that strikes a chord within him. Perhaps because it is so familiar.

_(He remembers hand-shaped bruises on his shoulders, an empty promise of respect, of power; all honey-coated lies that were laced with poison. It always comes back to poison.)_

He lays his hands out in his lap and tugs the red bandana further down his wrist, exposing the single black bar marked across his skin. He thinks about Tommy’s matching mark, thinks about the implications of it all, and knows that they cannot afford another war. If only the others could see that, could understand that this isn’t a game. Tubbo is afraid of dying ( _of course he is, he is only sixteen and somehow - somehow he only has one respawn left when he should still have all three_ ), but he is much more afraid of losing someone else. He can’t take that risk.

Behind him, there is the soft _whoosh_ of air against wings, and although he hesitates he does not bother to cover up his mark. 

“Are you all right?” Philza’s voice is gentle, a welcome change from all of the shouting that Tubbo has heard today, and he looks up to see the man standing beside him, his wings carefully folded behind his back. 

“I don’t know,” Tubbo says. It’s honest. He doesn’t have the energy to pretend he’s fine, anymore; he’s so tired of being strong for everyone else but he has to. If he crumbles, the nation might, too, and he can’t take that risk. “It’s been a long day.”

( _A long week, month, year; time just stretches out without any care for the effects it has on all of them. He wishes it would pause for just a moment, give him a chance to just rest, just breathe, just be._ )

Phil lets out a soft chuckle and sinks into a sitting position beside him. They’re not quite touching, yet, but they’re close enough that Phil blocks out some of the wind. It’s nice.

“I’ll say.” There’s a pause, and Tubbo can tell the exact moment that the other sees his mark, because there’s a catch in Phil’s breathing before he speaks again, a little more carefully. “You’re on your last life already?”

“Wars will do that to you.” Tubbo shrugs. He doesn’t have much else to say about it; he hates remembering his deaths. The first still stings with betrayal, even if he’s long since forgiven Eret. The second does, too, but of a different kind. He doubts that Techno knew that he had already lost a respawn, and he knows, in hindsight, that there weren’t a ton of options that day, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I’m guessing that’s why you’re so focused on peace, then,” Phil says. “And why you’re upset with Tommy for causing this mess.”

“Something like that. Have you seen him?” Tubbo asks, glancing over to peek at the other’s face. He feels a small amount of guilt; he still stands by what he had said, but he thinks he could have handled the situation better, anyways, and there is too much that is still unsaid between him and Tommy. 

Phil nods. 

“He’s worried.” There’s no need to clarify. They’re all worried about the same things right now. Tubbo sighs.

“I’m worried, too. I don’t know how to fix this.”

He’s so, so tired, and so when Phil reaches out an arm to pull him into his side, he does not protest. 

( _It took him a long time, after the festival, after Schlatt, to stop flinching at every move someone made toward him. He understood Wilbur’s paranoia a little better, afterwards; it was hard to trust people more than instincts, those who can betray you over the one thing that never has. Still, he trusts, because he has to, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he stops.)_

“It’s not going to be easy, but I don’t think I have to tell you that.” Phil gives his shoulder a soft squeeze, and it’s so comforting that it takes Tubbo by surprise. “You should talk to Tommy, though. He doesn’t understand your side of things, yet, and he won’t until you explain it.”

“I hate arguing with him.” It’s different from their bickering; that was all playful and never serious. This is worse. It makes Tubbo feel ill every time they do because there’s something so awful and wrong about it. “I want him to understand, but every time I try to explain he just - he doesn’t _listen_.”

“He will,” Phil says. He sounds so sure, but Tubbo doubts despite that and feels guiltier for it. 

“I hope so,” He responds. It’s all he can do. 

“You’re a good kid, Tubbo.” Phil looks down at him with a soft smile, and there is a warmth in his eyes that Tubbo needs more than anything right now. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you boys, sooner. I feel like I could have done a lot better, but I’m here now, okay? No matter what happens, you can always come to me.”

Tubbo nods. He does not say anything, because he fears he’ll start crying if he tries. Instead, they drift into a steady silence. The stars glimmer over head, and they watch them together, looking out over the nation that he has worked so hard to rebuild. 

* * *

**_You presented us with a choice that was impossible to make. We are a nation of peace, a nation that is tired of fighting. We do not have the means to fight the war you were leading us towards, and we will not begin to turn on each other no matter what protection you promise it will bring us. Any path with you always leads to war. We are done with war._ **

Tubbo shows up at Tommy’s place an hour or so later. Phil had wished him a good night, but he knows he will not be sleeping tonight and so he wanders, letting his feet take him wherever they happen to go. 

Out of habit, he ends up at Tommy’s place. 

( _They’re a little too good at finding their way back to each other. It’s like they are magnets, drawn to each other by an invisible force, destined to meet in the middle time and time again. Sometimes they clash a little harder than they mean to._ )

He hesitates at the door, wondering if it would be better to just wait until the next day to speak with the other. It would give them both a little longer to cool off and process the emotions of the day, but then, they don’t have much time to waste. 

He pushes down his anxiety ( _what if this is it, what if Tommy hates him, what if this is what tears them apart for good)_ and knocks anyway. 

Tommy is at the door before he’s even finished. Despite the way he tries to shape his expression into something neutral or firm, Tubbo sees the relief in his eyes and knows that this was the right choice.

“Hey,” Tommy says.

“Hi.” Tubbo shifts, doing his best to meet his best friend’s eyes despite the guilt twisting in his stomach. He wants to apologize and confess his fears all at once, spill them all out and lay his soul bare, but he does not know how to begin. Instead, he says: “I, uh, wanted to talk to you. I think - I think we need to.”

Tommy nods and pulls the door open a little further, motioning for him to enter. Tubbo slips inside and resists the urge to throw his arms around the other’s neck _(deep down he can’t help but doubt that his friend will ever want to hug him again after all of this, deep down he fears that this chasm that has broken open between them will just keep getting wider, deep down he is terrified that this ache in his chest will never go away_ ); he takes up a position in the corner of the room. He does not sit, even though this house is just as much his as any other, even if his chair is still sitting empty just feet away, like it has been waiting for him to return.

“You look awful,” Tommy says, ever blunt, as he shuts the door and turns to face him. He’s frowning. If Tubbo looks half as bad as he feels, then he’s sure he looks horrible, but Tommy doesn’t look great, either. There are dark bags under his eyes, and the fact that he opened the door so quickly means he wasn’t trying to sleep now despite his clear exhaustion. 

“I’ve been better.” Tubbo admits. “Rebuilding hasn’t been easy.”

It hasn’t. The crater is a mess, and cleaning up the debris alone had taken days, even with the others pitching in. Tubbo’s fingers are still covered with scrapes and bruises from moving the rough stones, and he had been so sure that he would never wash the soot out of his skin. Don’t even get him started on how difficult the process of building the platforms has been. 

( _Worst of all was the way the smell of gunpowder wouldn’t leave them. It hung in the air, soaking into their clothes and hair. They couldn’t get rid of it._ )

There’s a pause, then. They both know what’s coming next; they know the elephant in the room by name but neither of them dare to speak it aloud, just yet, like if they wait long enough it will go away. It’s a game, now, a battle of wills, to see who will give in first.

In the end, Tommy is the most stubborn. He always has been, always will be.

“I don’t know what to do here, Tommy,” Tubbo says, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t - I don’t want to exile you.”

“Then don’t!” 

Tubbo wants to laugh. Or cry. Or both. He wishes it were that simple.

( _Tommy has always been the most optimistic. Tubbo has not yet lost his wonder for the world but at the end of the day he is more realistic, more grounded. The difference between them is that they will both shoot for the stars but only one if them will ask themselves what they’ll do if they miss._ )

“It’s a little more complicated than that, Tommy.” He says. There’s a sigh building at the edge of his words, but he holds it back for now. “If I don’t exile you then I’m dooming L’Manberg to a war we can’t win.”

“Yes, we can!” Tommy retorts. He has so much fight, so much fire, but Tubbo doesn’t know if it will keep them warm or burn their nation to the ground. “We can _fight back_ , Tubbo.” 

“With what supplies, Tommy?” He asks, because he has to, because he’s the only one that will, the only one that has ever paused to consider the fallout that their next move could easily result in. “You all keep saying we could fight, but we can’t if we have nothing to fight _with_! We lost _everything_ , remember? I’m trying to protect us but I can’t do that if none of you will listen to reason!"

At the end of the day, that’s what their dispute boils down to - an understanding of exactly how dire their situation is and how much worse it could become. He recognizes the feeling of being backed into the corner better than most, and he has never felt so hemmed in before in his life. 

( _In his mind’s eye, he recalls the flash of color that took his second life away. He was never claustrophobic before the festival but he cannot stand the thought of being trapped ever again._ )

“So, what? That’s never stopped us before, Tubbo!” Tommy insists, shaking his head. His volume is climbing, too, and they are being all too loud for such a late hour but neither of them care. “We’ve fought Dream time and time again and you have never _hesitated_ to fight beside me before, no matter how bad it got! Why is this _any_ different?”

"Because we could all _die_ , Tommy, _don’t you get that_? There’s a difference between fighting back when we had a chance and giving Dream a good reason to massacre the entire nation! We’ve lost too many lives already, and you and I only have _one left_ , and I can’t - _I can’t lose you_!” It tears out of his throat like nothing ever had before, the words that he has been wrestling with over and over for days because they are so, _so selfish,_ but he _can’t_. He doesn’t know what he would do without Tommy; he doesn’t know if his heart would keep beating, if he would find a way to keep breathing and fighting and _living_ without his best friend at his side. 

And despite that, despite it all, he still wants to fight. Maybe it’s Tommy rubbing off on him, maybe it’s some spark within him that has managed to survive everything else, maybe it’s his determination to keep facing down the impossible -

( _Because it’s an old game now, measuring the odds and then defying them. When his friends needed supplies to win the first war, he did not rest until he got them. When they needed an escape, a way out, he had it waiting in their moment of need. When they needed a spy, he stepped into that role no matter how scared he was to return. When they needed a president, he accepted the mantle and all that came with it. He knows, deep down, that he was not meant to succeed, to fight and survive and live for so long, but he is still here. He is still standing. He has come too far to lay down and die now._ )

\- but it’s there, snarling like some kind of wild beast, prowling the prison of his rib cage, just waiting to get out and _fight_.

Tommy is staring at him with wide eyes and Tubbo knows that this time, this time he’s _listening_. He’s listening and he’s hearing and he _understands_. He doesn’t have to say it, doesn’t have to admit how much he, too, is terrified of watching the other fall one more time, because they just can’t stop watching each other die.

( _They do not talk about their nightmares in detail. They offer only references to the times and places that the visions are built upon. They are always the same. The Festival. The Betrayal. The Duel. The Fall._ )

Tommy doesn’t need to say it, but after a moment, he does anyways.

“I know. I can’t lose you, either.”

It’s like a release, a breath of fresh air. Tubbo says it and hears it and feels like he has just broken the surface of an ocean he didn’t know he was drowning in. It quells every insecurity and every second-guessing he has done in the last hours, the last days; _“the one thing I care about”_ stops echoing in his brain, and Tubbo realizes then that losing Tommy to exile would break him just the same as losing him to permadeath would.

They were separated once. Once was enough.

“What’s the plan, then, because we can’t just give in to Dream, either.” Tommy is right. They are both right, and therein lies the problem. Tubbo had only ever entertained Dream’s offer because he is scrambling for any chance at buying time, at giving himself a little longer to try and save their nation. But - but, if neither option is good, if both lead to an end that they cannot accept, then where does that leave them?

Tubbo doesn’t respond right away. He glances out the window, in the direction of L’Manberg. Although he can’t see it from here, he knows it better than anything, now, given how many times he has walked its length during the past weeks of reconstruction. He can picture each building perfectly, each house crafted by hand with so much love and hope. It’s what their nation is built on, and it shines through in everything - from the rebuilt van to the L’Mantree. 

“We stick together,” Tubbo says, and there's something creeping into the back of his mind the longer he thinks about it. He looks back at Tommy, but he still pictures the tree.

“I don’t get it. I swear you just got finished tellin’ me how we couldn’t fight, and now-”

It’s Tubbo’s turn to interrupt, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it. There’s an idea forming in his mind, and he’s not sure if it’s stupid or reckless but he thinks it might be their best bet.

“I’m not talking about fighting. Remember after everything, what you said by the L’Mantree?” He watches recognition flash bright in Tommy’s eyes; a lot happened that day, but it’s one of the few things that doesn’t hurt to remember, so the memory comes with relative ease. “You said so long as we’re together…”

“…L’Manberg lives on.” Tommy finishes, and recognition is traded for understanding as he starts to follow the trail of thought that Tubbo is leading him down. “It’s about us, isn’t it? The people are what make L’Manberg a special place - that’s what Wilbur always said, before. That’s why Dream’s tryin’ to get you to exile me.”

And Tubbo’s realized this by now. He knows that Dream always has ulterior motives; he is “team chaos”, after all, and he has always liked pulling the strings of those around him, manipulating every situation to his benefit.

( _Tubbo has wondered in the past how hard it would be to cut the strings, free themselves from his influence, escape the puppet master before he decides he has grown tired of playing games. He wonders if it is less strings and more chains that bind them, if they are less puppets and more prisoners. He wonders when their home became a prison_. _He wonders if it always was, and they were just too blind to see it._ )

But he knows that this has more to it than just being one of Dream’s games - that he is trying to tear them apart for more than just the enjoyment of how much it would hurt them all. They all know that none of them could ever take on Dream alone and hope to win, but their loyalty and determination to fight for each other is something that he cannot beat with skill alone. 

( _This is why they stick together, because together they are powerful and they are brave and they can do almost anything. Almost_.)

Dream can do what he want, but he cannot take that away from them so long as they are together. 

“Right. So we have to stick together - all of us - no matter what, okay?” Tubbo says. “And we don’t give in to Dream, but we don’t fight him, either. We make our own way. Remember when we talked about running away? Just leaving it all and starting anew, together? Remember why we stayed?”

“Because of Wilbur.” The name comes out with wince; Wilbur’s spiral into madness, his destruction of their home, and his death all hit hard, still. None of them have quite found the time to process any of it, least of all Tommy. “And L’Manberg.”

“The only thing that was stopping us was our family and our country.” Tubbo nods. There was no way they ever could have, in the end; even if they could give up on L’Manberg, they couldn’t leave behind their friends. “But Tommy, if L’Manberg’s about the people, then what if we brought them with us? What if we all left, together?”

There’s a moment where Tommy pauses, taking this all in, considering, calculating, and Tubbo watches right as the last piece clicks into place, and a bright grin lit up the blond’s eyes - infectious and wild and _hopeful_. 

“I think we’ve got some work to do,” Tommy says, and he is still grinning, all teeth, and Tubbo can’t help but smile as he throws himself forward into his friend’s arms, hugging him for the first time in days, because this could work. This could really, _really_ , work.

_They could be free._

* * *

The first thing they do is sleep. Tubbo wants to rush back to the others and call a meeting, because they are on a time limit and he can feel the seconds slipping away, but Tommy stops him before he gets to the door.

“It can wait until morning, Tubbo. Dream’ll be suspicious anyways if we go call a meeting in the middle of the night,” He says, which is a fair point; Tubbo has no doubts that Dream is at least keeping loose tabs on their movements right now. “Besides, you look like a wreck. When was the last night you slept? And I mean like, the whole night, not just a nap.”

When it takes Tubbo more than a few seconds to provide any answer beyond a nervous laugh, Tommy rolls his eyes and pulls him downstairs. He pauses to pull out a pair of Tubbo’s clothes from a chest that he must have discovered in the past few weeks ( _Tubbo had taken to spending the night in Tommy’s house at the begin of Schlatt’s rule; it was the only way he ever got sleep_ ), and throws them at Tubbo’s face.

There is no discussion about their impromptu sleepover. As soon as they’ve changed into comfier clothes they both slide into their usual side of the bed; they had shared every night from the festival to the end of the war, and so it’s old habit now to claim their spots and curl into a comfortable position. 

“I’m sorry, for the record,” Tommy says softly, minutes later when they are closer to sleep than to being awake. Tubbo shifts a little, not lifting his head from the other’s shoulder, but he opens his eyes and pays closer attention.. “Not for what I did, of course; Dream’s absolutely overreacting and I’m not sorry at all.”

Tubbo’s too tired now to be anything but exasperated. It’s the most Tommy apology he’s ever heard, and yet, it warms something in his chest as he listens, tracing patterns in the stars he helped paint on the ceiling.

“But I’m sorry for how it’s affected you. I haven’t seen you this stressed and exhausted since you were spying on Schlatt, and I hate that I’m making things worse.”

Tubbo waits a few seconds in case Tommy wanted to say anything else. His best friend was great at many things, but emotional conversations were something he always balked at. He counts the other teen’s heartbeat, the steady drumming just shy of a lullaby, until he’s decided that it’s his turn to speak.

“I’m sorry, too,” Tubbo says. He feels Tommy move, a familiar weight pressing against the top of his head. “I shouldn’t have given Dream any leeway to take control of the situation, and I should have talked to you sooner. I was so busy trying to keep the peace that I never once asked for your input, let alone how you were doing or feeling.”

Tommy lets out a soft laugh, one that Tubbo feels more than he hears.

“We’re a real mess, aren’t we?” He jokes, drawing a second laugh from both of them. Tubbo finds Tommy’s hand and intertwines their fingers; there’s a soft squeeze against his palm as his friend continues. “We’re going to make this work, though. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Tubbo hums. He hopes that Tommy is right, but he stays quiet. He doesn’t have anything to add, anyway, besides his agreement.

( _Part of him is scared to speak again, too, afraid that he will spill out all of his fears, all of his worries, every spiraling thought that has crept its way into the darkest corners of his mind and dreams. He has been so afraid for so long, and the thought of this plan failing is enough to overwhelm him if he he lingers on it too long.)_

Their conversation ends there for the night. The hours are creeping closer to dawn and they have so much work to do when the sun does rise once more; Tubbo knows that there will be no sleeping the next night, and after that, he does not know. For now, he will take advantage of the peace he has managed to catch hold of, the way the restlessness has been chased away, and the steady reassurance of Tommy’s presence beside him.

He closes his eyes. Exhales. Adjusts to curl a little closer and block out the cold a little more. Listens to the soft half-snore that trails on the edge of Tommy’s breathing every now and then. Eventually, he drifts. 

For once, he does not dream.

* * *

**_You have probably noticed this by now, but we have left. All of us. We are surrendering our land to you. Although we love it dearly - for it was and always will be our home - the preservation of our nation does not begin and end with the preservation of our land. You see, Dream, the thing about L’Manberg is that its people were what gave it its strength, its power; the people are what made it special. You said that L’Manberg cannot be free, but if we are free, then it is, too._ **

The next morning goes something like this:

They both wake up like clockwork an hour after sunrise. Tubbo wakes up with a jolt, almost flying out of bed before he realizes where he is ( _and, more importantly, when; most nights that he does get sleep, he often wakes up post-nightmare in a haze, and it always takes him a few seconds to remember that he is safe, he is free from Schlatt, they are not at war, there is no one coming to hurt him_ ). It takes him two seconds too long, though, and his heart is already racing, any trace of the peacefulness that came with sleep long gone.

Tommy sits up a second later, blinking sleep and confusion away, and Tubbo can see him out of the side of his vision, watching with concern as he breathes, trying to ground himself in the present. A hand finds his, and he almost smiles at the anchor it provides.

( _He recalls another of Techno’s myths - a story of a man named Achilles, who was invincible to all damage except for one weak point, one soft spot that anchored him to his humanity, the same spot his grandmother held on to when she dipped him in the river that give him his power in the first place. Tubbo thinks that if he were Achilles then Tommy would be his Achilles’ heel- the one thing keeping him grounded, keeping him anchored, the one way that he can be hurt, the one thing that, if it were ever attacked, ~~could~~_ _would destroy him._ )

“I’m okay,” Tubbo says after a moment, like he hasn’t just worked himself down from breathless panic. Tommy gives him a look, but they are both messed up, both haunted by their dreams at night and the memories that stalk them during the day, so he says nothing. Not with words, at least. There is a gentle message passed along between another squeeze of his hand, a promise that they are in this, together, just like they always have been, just like they always will be.

“Let’s get up and get moving, then.” Tommy grins, letting go of his hand to clamber out of the bed. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

Tubbo spends the next few seconds fighting off a yawn, watching his friend grab a fresh pair of clothes and dart into the bathroom. He eventually gets up, too, and wanders over to the chests. He doesn’t feel like wearing his presidential suit today, especially since he’d worn it the entire day before, so he pulls out a green sweater and a pair of dark jeans that he had also left there. 

( _He feels more like himself than he has in weeks, more comfortable in his own skin than he can remember being; the part of him that is still a teenager, still a kid, feels welcome and at home for the first time in what feels like forever_.)

“You ready?” Tommy asks, stepping back out of the bathroom, and Tubbo nods, smoothing out his sweater. “We can stop by Niki’s first and grab breakfast; she’ll probably help us round the others up, too.”

The five minute walk is enough to shake off any remaining drowsiness; the morning air is brisk, and he’s glad that he’s chosen a sweater today because it’s a lot warmer than his usual attire. Tommy is all but bounding with energy, and it’s clear that he’s been cheered up a lot by the prospect of this plan succeeding. Tubbo just hopes that the others are half as eager. If they aren’t…he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Niki’s bakery welcomes them in the front door with a pleasant chime of the door’s bell and a wave of warmth that chases any chill away. The air is flooded with the smell of fresh bread, and Tubbo’s stomach rumbles as it hits his nose. He can hear soft humming, too. 

“Hello? Niki?” Tommy walks up to the counter and leans against it, doing his best to peer into the back of the shop. 

“Oh! One second, I’ll be right there.” Niki’s voice is soft, light. She has always been the best of them, Tubbo thinks, despite everything that has sharpened them for war; she has never lost her gentle nature.

( _Gentle does not mean weak, does not mean fragile. It means grace and kindness and a warmth like the sun that is as steady as daylight, it means a forgiveness that is unrelenting. She is the ocean at sunset - steady, calm - but it is easy to underestimate the stillness of her waves and forget the power of a riptide. She can be a tsunami, too, when stirred to anger, and it is easy to forget it when she offers her love and kindness with no strings attached_.) 

Niki rounds the corner with a smile. There is flour smudged across her apron, and her hair is tied up in a bun to keep it out of her face; the sunlight filtering in through the windows turns her pale blond a shade of gold. 

“Good morning!” She greets. Her smile deepens and her eyes brighten as she sees both of them, together. There is relief there, hidden behind her cheerfulness; the last time she had seen them, they had been at odds, and she knows them well enough to be able to tell that something had changed since then. 

( _She is the closest thing that they have ever had to a sister. She is their ally, their guardian angel. She has never backed down, never paused to defend them - not once. Her power is not in her fighting or even her words, it is in her love. It is the language she speaks with every move she makes, the one she has retaught them time and time again, when others would have them speak only in violence, only in war. She has never given up on those she loves, and that is what gives her strength. Sometimes Tubbo thinks she is the strongest of them all. Other times, he knows it._ )

“Hi, Niki,” Tubbo says, matching her smile. Her warmth is infectious, as always, and for once he doesn’t have to force his own happiness to the front. “How are you?”

“I’m good!” She snags a towel from below the counter and uses it to wipe the remaining flour off of her hands. “I’m just cleaning up. Would you like any muffins or anything? I pulled a batch out of the oven a few minutes ago.”

Tommy nods immediately, and she laughs, motioning them to follow her around the corner into the kitchen. The ovens are still glowing, a batch of cookies still half-way through the baking process, and the counters are covered with a selection of other baked goods that are cooling. Niki motions them to one side, where an assortment of blueberry, cinnamon, and chocolate chip muffins are waiting. 

“What brings you by?” She asks, once they had both selected a muffin. She’s holding a blueberry one, watching in amusement as Tommy shoves half of his in his mouth. Tubbo has torn of a chunk of his, instead, which made it a lot easier to swallow and be the first to answer.

“We were wondering if you’d help us gather everyone else for a meeting. We’ve got something important to talk about, and I want every citizen to be there, not just the cabinet.” He pauses, glancing down at the muffin in his hand. “And, to be honest, we were hoping for some breakfast, too.”

Niki laughs again, the sound clear and light. 

“Of course. Give me a couple of minutes while the cookies finish, and then I’ll be happy to help.” 

They decide to wait with her, finishing their breakfast and filling the quiet with laughter and easy conversation; they don’t discuss the recent arguments or conflicts at all, and Tubbo is grateful that she seems happy to hold off on any questions for now. He knows that she has them. They’re present in every little side-glance she sneaks their way when the conversation lulls, when she thinks they are not looking. Tubbo has grown used to watching for these glances, though; he always found others watching him, these days.

( _It feels like he can never get a break. They are always there, like they’re just waiting for him to mess up or fall apart or turn out to be a mirror image of one of his two predecessors. He can’t blame them; they haven’t had a great track record with presidents so far._ )

Mostly, they swap gossip. There’s plenty of it to be had; the rumor mill in their community is always surprisingly active considering how small it might be, but there is always a lot going on. Tubbo updates them on some of the antics the others have gotten up to during the rebuilding, Tommy details the chaos he’s gotten up to with Quackity and Ranboo during their free time, and both boys ask Niki about her latest ventures with Puffy. Tubbo hasn’t gotten to know the sheep hybrid very well yet, but she was always nice during the few encounters he’s had. She fit into their lives well, just as Ranboo did.

“I think they’re ready,” Niki says, pulling out the tray of cookies to check on them. She lifts the corner of one with her spatula and nods. “Want to help me wrap them up? We can bring them to the meeting.”

Tommy jumps off his spot on the counter to help her, snagging a hot cookie the second she turns away to grab a basket. Given the laughter gleaming in her eyes, Tubbo doubts that she missed the movement, but she says nothing as she wraps the cookies up in the basket and gestures toward the door. He’s the first one to step outside. There, he pauses, turning back to give the two instructions.

“I’ll get Quackity and Fundy, Tommy can get Phil and Ranboo, and Niki, can you get Karl, and maybe see if Jack’s home? I know he’s not around much anymore, but I’d like him to be there, still.” Even if he doesn’t want to join them, Tubbo at least wants him to know their plan. It won’t feel right, otherwise. “We’ll meet back in the van.”

Tommy and Niki both nod; the former’s eyes are still bright with hope and that familiar fire, while the latter’s are a softer blaze, like a warm hearth. Tubbo feels a flicker of that same flame flare up in his own chest, and he wonders if this time, things might just work out.

* * *

It doesn’t take him long to get Quackity to get moving; once he managed to get him to open the door, at least. Before then, he stands on the porch knocking for what feels like five minutes, tapping his foot as he waits for the man to answer the door. 

When he does, Tubbo fills him in on what’s going on, and then repeats it, twice, as Quackity stares at him blearily, until he gets a nod of confirmation. The door swings shut. Tubo sighs and moves on to Fundy. 

Luckily, the fox hybrid is a much lighter sleeper. Tubbo is familiar with how easy it is to wake his friend from their days in the war, when they often shared spaces or all crammed into the same area to sleep after particularly bad nights. He’s arguably the most familiar with him in general, these days.

( _Tubbo has always had a certain sort of understanding with Fundy. During the war, they were the ones who spent hours patching the others and themselves up post battle; Tubbo was the best at brewing potions, Fundy was the best at stitches, and both of them did their best to tend to the many wounds that they collected with each day of fighting. Tubbo thinks that things started to shift after the betrayal, after Eret. In the blackstone room, Tubbo dies first. Fundy dies last. Tubbo does not miss the haunted glow to Fundy’s gaze that lingers for days afterwards. They say that first deaths are always the hardest. Fundy witnessed all of them._ )

Fundy opens the door in what feels like seconds - perhaps twenty, if Tubbo had been counting - although judging by the messiness of his hair and the way he’s rubbing his eyes, he’s just rolled out of bed.

“We’re having a meeting,” Tubbo says, once they get past their usual morning greetings. “As soon as possible.”

Fundy yawns, sharp canines glinting, and nods. He already looks more awake and alert.

“I’ll go get changed.” The door swings shut, and Tubbo is left standing alone, waiting for his two cabinet members to get ready. He doesn’t mind it; the view from the cliff they’d built their homes on was nice. On one side, they had a great view of their country, and on the other - 

A flash of purple catches Tubbo’s attention, and he turns to follow it, his eyes landing on a familiar figure in the valley behind the house. 

( _His memories from before the wars are mostly him and Tommy, but there is another boy there, too. Quieter, busier, more focused on building and gathering supplies than playing pranks and breaking the rules behind Dream’s back - but still ever present. Tubbo sometimes wonders what his life would look like now if he had chosen neutrality over_ _L’manberg_ _, peace over war, safety over fighting at Tommy’s side. He thinks of_ _Purpled_ _, hiding away in his bases as the land is torn apart around him, alone and caught in the crossfire, and he thinks he wouldn’t be any happier._ )

Tubbo watches for a moment, weighing the options in his mind, and settles on a decision. He heads down the cliff. 

* * *

**_There was something that our first President said, during the revolution:_ independence or death _. This was the mantra that got us through the first war, that got us through to our emancipation, that taught us to accept nothing less than freedom. If you refuse to allow us liberty, and we refuse to let anyone else die, then the only option that we see is to find our own freedom elsewhere. It’s a wide world beyond this land, and there is a place out there waiting for us to call it home._**

The meeting happens like this:

Tubbo is one of the last to arrive; Fundy and Quackity had gone on ahead of him, and so when he walks in, everyone else is already gathered around the table. It’s a tight fit with all of them there, but they make it work. 

All eyes turn to him when he steps through the door, and then immediately their gazes fall on Purpled, who is at his heels. There are more than a few questioning glances and raised eyebrows, but no one says a word. Niki greets the other boy with a warm grin and a gesture to settle in beside her, and he does so as Tubbo moves carefully around the small room to stand at the head of the table. Tommy is on his right, with Ranboo on his other side, while Quackity and Fundy are on his left. The others are spread around the opposite end of the table. Jack is there, to his relief, munching on one of the cookies Niki had brought with her. 

“Thank you all for coming on such a short notice,” He begins. He glances around the room at all the familiar faces of his friends - his family - and takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I really need to explain what’s happened; we’ve all seen the walls, and I’m sure by now you’ve heard what Dream’s ultimatum is.”

Everyone nods, slowly, a solemn affirmation. Word spreads like wildfire amidst such a small community, and something like this would have only taken an hour to reach everyone’s ears.

“What’s the plan, Mr. President?” Quackity asks, because he is always the first to speak, always the first to break the silence. 

( _They had both developed their own defenses against Schlatt and his habit of shutting them down, speaking over them at every opportunity, shooting down each idea and reprimanding them for daring to think for themselves in the first place. Tubbo had stopped speaking up - it was easier, safer. Quackity had started speaking louder - if he was loud enough, maybe he wouldn’t be drowned out. Both habits are harder to shake off than either of them anticipated.)_

“Tommy and I - we were talking last night, after everything, and we realized something that I think we’ve all been missing for a very long time. Two things, really.” Beneath the table, Tubbo feels Tommy grab his hand, offering silent support through all of this. His best friend knew how much he hated speaking in front of an audience, no matter the circumstance. “First of all, Dream’s never going to stop. No matter what we do - if we fight or give in, he’s just going to keep taking and taking until we have nothing left - until he has _everything_ that we have ever built and worked for and loved.”

He motions out the window with his free hand, not towards the obsidian walls, but towards the rest of L’Manberg, where their homes were built upon stilts above the crater.

“Just look at what he helped do! Sure, Wilbur was the one to press the button, but who gave him the TNT? Who attacked us as we tried to stop the withers from destroying more of the land?” Tubbo doesn’t have to search for recognition in the others’ eyes; none of them can forget that dark, cursed day, no matter how much they’d like to chase it away from their memories. “It doesn’t matter what he promises us, what deals he tries to make; in the end he’s _always_ going to find a new loop hole, a new opportunity to hurt us.”

“So what are you saying?” Fundy’s eyes are half-narrowed, the way they are when he’s thinking with an extra sort of care, like when he is working with complex redstone or drawing out battle strategies. “We can’t _not_ choose. We either exile Tommy, or we don’t.”

“He’s saying that we need to stop letting Dream call all the shots,” Tommy says, taking the reigns of the conversation with an ease that resembles Wilbur more than anything. No matter how brash and chaotic Tommy can be, he is also a good speaker, a good leader, when he needed to be. “That was the whole point of L’Manberg, wasn’t it? We fought and bled and _died_ for our freedom, what gives him the right to just take it away?”

“Whether or not what Tommy did was wrong is not up for debate, because it doesn’t matter.” Tubbo sees Tommy start to protest and gives his hand a hard squeeze. _Focus_. “This hasn’t been about that from the start; if it was, then we would still be negotiating with George - who was satisfied with our original agreement, remember - not listening to Dream make his demands. He’s taken control in a situation he never should have been involved in.”

“Yes!” Quackity’s eyes are burning with a passionate anger, the same flame that was present each time he spoke about Dream’s blatant tyranny. “This is what I’ve been saying; we have to stop letting him push us around - we have to stand up to him.”

“Stand up to Dream?” Niki asks, a half-laugh trailing on the end of her words. “Quackity, we barely survived the first war, and that was when we had supplies and defenses. He would _destroy_ us.”

“She’s right,” Tubbo says, quickly, before Quackity could speak again and spur an argument that they did not have time for. “We can’t fight him - not without losing lives, and we’ve lost too many of those already to be safe.”

Tubbo pauses, not missing the way Phil’s eyes flick down to the bandana tied around his wrist from where the man was standing by the other end of the table. Those who are most familiar with the first war and what it cost them - Fundy, Niki, Jack, and Purpled, too - glance between him and Tommy, knowing well what another war could result in. 

“You said there were two things you realized.” Ranboo has his book propped against the edge of the table, a pen in hand, and he glances between the page in front of him and Tubbo. “What was the second?”

It’s Tommy who answers, the other boy straightening a little as he draws the room’s attention to himself. 

“Do you all remember why you fought for L’Manberg in the first place? And I mean why you _really_ fought, why you were so willing to risk your life and everything you had for it.”

“Freedom was always part of it, but I guess it was more to do with you two and Will than anything else,” Fundy answers, shrugging slightly with a flick of his ears. “I would have followed him anywhere, done anything to keep you guys safe.”

Niki nods, smiling slightly.

“We were a family. We fought for each other.” She leans into Fundy’s shoulder, making him grin, too, and reaches out for Jack’s and then Tommy’s hand across the table, as he is the only one of the pair she could reach. Tubbo brings his and Tommy’s joined hands up into view, as well.

( _L’Manberg_ _is their symphony, now. Wilbur dreamed it, wrote it, conducted it, but they played it, cared for it, brought it to life. It is theirs, too, theirs to cherish and love, and they will play it until their dying breath. They will keep the legacy alive, whatever it takes_.)

“L’Manberg is a togetherness, not a place,” Tubbo says, and he knows they all recognize the familiar phrase from after the battle mere weeks ago. He reaches for Quackity’s hand. “And so long as we stay together, then L’Manberg lives on.”

“I know that this place has been our home for a long time.” Tommy looks around the room, not just at the people, but at the walls of the van and the world outside the windows. “But the land doesn’t matter, at the end of the day, because L’Manberg will exist wherever we are.”

“You want to leave?” Jack asks slowly. There is a furrow to his brow, like he is trying to piece it all together, weigh his options, and figure out just where they are planning to go from here.

“If we can’t choose either of Dream’s options, then we make a third,” Tubbo says. He’s nervous, now, at how the others will take it, because he knows that they have given up so much to be able to stand where they are now and he does not know if they will be willing to leave it all behind. "We could leave tonight, all of us, and be long gone before Dream notices. We could go far away from here and find someplace new to call home.”

No one speaks for several long, agonizing seconds. Tubbo grips Tommy’s hand a little tighter, hoping that the others will understand, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if they want to stay.

( _If they stay they will have to fight. If they fight they will die. They have come too far to die_.)

In the quiet, the sound of Ranboo shutting his book is startlingly loud.

“I’m in.” He’s smiling, giving Tubbo a nod as he sets the book on the table in front of him. “I know I’m new here, but I think Tubbo’s right; so long as we’re here for Dream to manipulate and control, we’re never going to be safe or happy. Leaving sounds like the best option for all of you. All of _us_.”

“I’m on board as well, obviously,” Phil says. Tubbo never really doubted it - even if they decide to leave and everyone else stayed, he knows that after everything, Phil will follow them wherever they go. They are the only real reason he is here, after all. 

“Me, too.” Quackity lets out a long sigh. “I still want justice for everything Dream’s done, but I can always come back someday if I want. We’ve got to stick together.”

“Sure, why not?” Jack laughs, shaking his head. “It’ll be an adventure, and I’m sick of having my stuff destroyed by all the fighting.”

Tubbo’s hope is blooming bigger and brighter by the second, but he quells the urge to smile as he looks to Niki and Fundy - both of whom have yet to speak, yet to voice their decision. He does not know if he can make it without them; they’ve been together for so long, been through so much together.

“Niki?” Tommy’s voice is soft, pleading. He is still holding her hand. “Please say you’ll come with us.”

“I don’t know,” She says. Her eyes are misty. Fundy’s are, too. “It’s just - there is so much good here, still. So many happy memories, and so much that we have sacrificed for this land.”

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” Tubbo asks. He is. He’s exhausted, and he does not know if he has the energy or will to live through another war - even if he had the spare lives to do so. “I’ll miss it, too, but I can’t - I’m so tired of wondering when the next attack is going to come. It feels like we’re always just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I hate it. This isn’t living.”

Niki and Fundy exchange a long, long look, both of their expressions soft and haunted with understanding, because they know exactly what that feeling is, and Tubbo watches, pleading silently, without words, for them to agree. 

( _A few nights ago, after a particularly bad nightmare, while he was struggling to breathe, Tubbo realized he had not felt safe in a long time. Not since before the first war. Even when the fighting ended, even when the explosions stopped, nothing felt safe anymore._ )

“Okay,” Fundy says, finally, after Niki gives him the tiniest of nods. “Okay, we’re in.”

They all turn to look towards Purpled and Karl. Neither have spoken thus far, and Tubbo knows that neither of them have a particular obligation to stick with them. Karl is part of their nation but he spends more time outside their borders than within them. Purpled has never been a part of their nation but he has never once stopped being their friend.

“I’m sorry.” Karl is frowning as he shakes his head, and while Tubbo is not surprised he is still saddened by it. “I’ll keep it a secret from everyone else, but I’m staying. I can’t leave George and Sapnap, especially now after everything Dream’s done.”

“That’s okay,” Tubbo says, and he means it. He’ll miss Karl, but he understands. “Thank you for everything, Karl.”

And then, with his decision made, it’s just Purpled, who looks more conflicted than Tubbo has ever seen.

“I don’t know. Can I think about it?” Purpled fiddles with the ties on his hoodie, looking up to meet his eyes. “I’m not opposed to it, but it’s a lot to take in. And I don’t know if I can just disappear on Ponk like that.”

“Ponk would be welcome to come, too.” Tubbo doesn’t have to think about that; he’s always liked Ponk, and he doubts that he’d sell them out to Dream if he didn’t want to come. “Actually, you all are welcome to invite anyone who you trust to keep this a secret. I don’t want to leave people behind.”

Niki brightens at that, looking a little more eager, and Tubbo remembers how close she is with Puffy these days. Tommy nods.

“Right, do whatever you have to do today - say your goodbyes, speak to whoever you need to, and pack everything you need - and then we’ll leave tonight.” He’s standing tall, now, looking every inch the leader that Tubbo knows he can be ( _the leader everyone overlooks in him, in favor of someone older, wiser, calmer, more contained_ ). “Just remember, whatever happens we _cannot_ get caught, so we have to be careful.”

“We’ll come around and get you when it’s time to go,” Tubbo adds. "With any luck, we’ll get a good head start before Dream even notices we’re gone, and he won’t be able to stop us.”

( _No one voices the unspoken “what if?” - if this plan does not work, if they do not escape unnoticed, if they get caught. Perhaps it is partly because they are afraid to, as if speaking it will give its possibility more weight, shift the balance of the universe further in its favor, increase the odds that it will all fall to pieces. Perhaps it is because they do not need to. They all know what will happen if they are caught. They will fight. They will die._ )

The rest of the meeting goes like this: Fundy pulls out a notepad and they carefully list out necessary supplies and delegate responsibilities for gathering them. Everyone is packing their own belongings, of course, but things like food, medical supplies, and anything else they might need for traveling or for establishing a new home are assigned to specific individuals so that they do not neglect packing enough. 

During this time, Karl steps out with a promise to help out where he can, and Purpled slips away a few moments later. He still looks quietly contemplative, and Tubbo is honestly not sure what his friend will choose in the end; he hopes he will come, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed.

The rest of them are not long in following. Once they finish planning, there is nothing left to do but make the most of the day that they have to pack and prepare. Tubbo watches and waits as each of his people - his family - step out the door, their numbers dwindling down until finally it is just him, and Tommy, and Philza.

“So, this is it, I guess,” Tommy says. He reaches out to run a hand across the countertop behind him, a nostalgic half-smile on his face. “Never thought I’d be leaving L’Manberg by choice.”

“I wish there was another way.” Tubbo has done nothing else since the moment Dream gave him the ultimatum. Wishing has never done much for him. Not when their home was blown up, not when Schlatt called him up on that stage, not when they were fighting in the first war. He loved shooting stars but they had never loved him back. He sighs, tracing a pattern in the surface of the table, and looks out the window once more. “I just - I feel like I could’ve done more - found another way, I mean. A solution that didn’t involve leaving.”

( _The problem with their perfect solution is that it isn’t. The land does not matter but it does to them, to those who had called it home, those who had fought and bled and died for it. Those who held it dear to their hearts, a symbol of all they had sacrificed, all they had done to get where they are now - the land matters to them, but the people matter more, and so it is a necessary heartbreak._ )

“You did your absolute best, and _that_ is all that matters, Tubbo.” Phil slips around the table to stand between him and Tommy, one hand placed on both of their arms. His wings can’t fully unfurl in the narrow space, but he stretches them out, anyway, drawing them in a little closer. “I think the fact that you found a third option to begin with is something you should be proud of. No one else would have. You’ve done well, and if anyone disagrees they can come talk to me about it.”

The teasing remark is accompanied by a ruffle of Tubbo’s hair, drawing a laugh. Tommy laughs, too, nodding as he narrowed his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, if anyone tries to get under your skin, tell me, and I’ll just stab ‘em.”

“ _Okay_.” Philza sighed, running a hand over his face, a perfect picture of exasperation. He’s suppressing a smile, though, one that’s gleaming in his eyes, and Tommy grins. “Seriously, though, I’m proud of you, mate. Both of you.”

Tubbo can’t help but smile at the praise, leaning into the hand that Phil has left placed against his shoulder blades, because he needed it more than he knew. It’s water in a barren desert, and something in his chest is blooming now, once again. 

( _He does not agree that he has done well - not yet. He cannot believe it until they are out, until they are safe, until his responsibilities are fulfilled. For now he will soak up the reassurance his family offers him, hold onto the warmth it brings him, and hope that the next time he can believe it, too._ )

* * *

It’s a little depressing how little time it takes Tubbo to pack his things. He has spent so long here, but he has so little, even after all this time, because no matter how much he works and gains he always loses everything, in the end. It’s reached a point where he’s stopped caring so much about things; instead, he is content to wear simple armor, borrow tools from friends when needed, because he does not see the point, anymore. 

Most of the important things are already tucked away in his ender chest, which means that the hour he does spend packing mainly consists of shoving more of his clothes into the little pocket dimension and disassembling his brewery. He only has a few potions ready, but he carefully takes apart his brewing stand and packs it away. Most of the ingredients he’ll search for at their new home, but he packs away the blaze powder, netherwart, and the few glistening melons and golden carrots he has left. He has one more vial of ghast tears, which he settles into his ender chest. The volatile liquid is not something he wants to carry on him for long. 

He wants to bring the whole archive, too, but he cannot justify carrying that many books on him. Only the documents of L’Manberg are taken out and, once they are placed into a protective case, they too, go into his ender chest, filling it to the brim. 

There’s nothing left for him to take, then. He fills his backpack with food and materials for setting up camp, packs a few extra arrows and a water canteen, but he leaves the rest behind and seals the door shut. It’s doubtful that Dream or any of the others will ransack their homes after they leave unless they are feeling particularly petty, but he shuts it off anyway, adding the extra layer of protection. 

Tubbo thinks about going to help Tommy pack. He thinks about it a little longer and knows that it would end with him packing _for_ Tommy, and he isn’t in the mood for that. Instead, he wanders to the L’Mantree.

The fact that it’s still standing after everything is a bit of a miracle. 

( _After the explosions stopped, after the fighting ended, the tree was a beacon of hope that they flocked to like moths to a flame. It was all they had left, but it was a promise that if it could survive all of that, they could, too._ )

The tree still stands tall, even though it has been cut off from the rest of L’Manberg by the obsidian barrier Dream has begun to construct. There’s some kind of symbolism in that, Tubbo thinks, in the physical representation of their country being separated from the main body of land. He’s never been very good with words or metaphors, though, so he does not dwell on it. Instead, he places one hand against the tree, lets the bark press patterns into his fingers, and takes a deep breath of the fresh air. 

It’s hard to collect his thoughts. Everything is happening so fast, and he just wants to take five minutes, sort his emotions out, and say goodbye to the land he has grown to love. He doesn’t have time, though; he never does.

He looks at the tree for a moment, carefully considering the branches nearest to him, before reaching for a knife on his belt. It takes him a few minutes of checking for the best spot before making small, precise cuts into the tree until he has a perfect cutting in hand. 

He may not be able to take the tree with them - it would remain here as long as those left behind would allow, firmly rooted in the ground that they had fought for time and time again - but they could plant a new L’Mantree wherever they settled. Its symbolism would live on. 

* * *

**_You have taken our lives and our land, tried to destroy us, time after time, but you cannot take away our freedom unless we let you. It’s not something you can steal away, no matter how hard you try. If you want to make our home into a prison, so be it, but we will not become your prisoners._ **

The rest of their final day passes quickly. Too quickly, if Tubbo is being honest, but there is no stopping the flow of time.

It’s just after midnight when Tommy glances his way with a solemness that he had perfected during their wars, and they both get to their feet. Tubbo pulls his bag onto his back and watches as Tommy double-checks that each of his weapons are in place, and then he nods towards the door.

“Are you ready?” He asks. Tommy nods.

“Yeah. We should get moving. The longer we wait, the more mobs there’ll be.”

The last thing they need is to have mobs blow their cover, and the less fighting they have to do, the better. Tubbo knows this. They both do. Still, they hesitate, slipping out of the door slowly, because they know this is the last time that they will step foot in this home.

Tubbo watches as Tommy steps out ahead of him and crosses the open space to the bench at the edge of the cliff, reaching out to grab the weather-worn wood.

( _It goes like this: when the fighting stops, when they’ve patched up their wounds, when they finally have a moment to rest and breathe, they find their way back to the bench. The outcome of the battle changes, the reason for the fighting varies, and their injuries are never the same, but the bench is a constant. Tubbo thinks it’s a bit like the_ _L’Mantree_ _, more symbol and sentiment than anything else, a reminder that they are still here, that they are still standing despite it all.)_

“I’m going to miss it,” Tommy says, quietly. He’s looking out past the bench, at the view the cliffside gives them. The moon is half-full tonight, shining soft light on the land around them. 

“Me, too.” He’s not talking about the bench. Neither of them are. 

There’s a familiar, soft rush of air behind them, but no footsteps follow. Phil is there, waiting for them, but he does not approach, letting them have this moment uninterrupted. Tubbo knows that he will be there when they turn to leave, but he will wait patiently until they are ready.

( _The thing about Phil is that he knows just how broken and messed up all of them are and he keeps loving them anyway. The thing about Phil is that he knows the months he missed of their lives were some of the worst they’ve ever faced, and he is working to make up for every second he wasn’t there. Tubbo doubts he will ever be able to explain everything that haunts him now. He tells Phil this and instead of the frustration or anger that he has grown to expect, all he receives is a gentle smile and the assurance that he doesn’t have to, that it’s okay. When he gets a hug instead of a new bruise, Tubbo does not cry, even if he wants to._ )

The thing is, Phil’s never stopped loving them once and so he was always going to come back, but Tubbo can’t help but wish that he had never left in the first place. He doesn’t hold it against him - he can’t, not when they hid the truth in their letters time and time again, glossing over the worst parts and assuring Phil that they were fine on their own. It’s not Phil’s fault that he wasn’t there until it was too late. Still, Tubbo wonders how much happier they would be if they had never left home. Maybe then things would never have gone this far, maybe then he and Tommy would still have a life or two to spare, maybe then the nightmares would never have started, maybe then Wilbur would still - 

( _The thing about Wilbur is that Tubbo still misses him. Despite it all, it is difficult to blame a dead man for the destruction he left in his wake. It is easy to be angry for the way they were abandoned, easier still to hate the way it affected Tommy, but Tubbo can’t bring himself to hate him. No matter how much it hurt, even an explosion can’t eliminate the years of love before then. It’s hard to picture the man who blew up their home without remembering the one who patched up their scraped knees and sang them to sleep. Tubbo wonders if he still loved them, in the end._ )

“Skeppy still has one of my discs,” Tommy says eventually, drawing Tubbo’s attention back to the present. He’s looking at the jukebox placed just ahead of them, which hasn’t been used since the day they took back L’Manberg. “I guess…I guess it’s his now.”

“Actually, I was wanting to speak to you about that.” At Phil’s voice, Tubbo flinches, not expecting the sudden low tone. It’s not that he’s afraid of Phil or anything - quite the opposite, in fact - but the unexpected noise startled him. When he turns to meet Phil’s eyes, there’s an apology laced with a soft sort of understand ( _Not pity; there was never pity_ ) as the winged man cleared his throat. “I went and had a talk with Bad and Skeppy earlier on today, shed some light on things. I didn’t tell them about the plan, of course; I said something about me taking Tommy back home tomorrow if Dream did push you to exile him - but they were pretty sympathetic.”

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a familiar, circular object, and Tommy lets out a choked gasp beside him. The other boy reaches out, a reverent gleam in his eyes, but he doesn’t take it until Phil presses it into his hands. 

( _The discs had never meant to Tubbo what they did to Tommy. He didn’t follow his best friend into battle for the discs because he cared about them, but because Tommy did. Sure, there is some nostalgia and sentiment to them, but they weren’t something Tubbo would die for. Tommy, on the other hand…_ )

“Is this _real_?” Tommy’s fingers carefully trace the ridges, not daring to tear his eyes away from the disc now that it was finally back in his hands. “He just gave this to you?”

“After I pointed out that they would mean nothing the moment you left, he didn’t need much convincing,” Phil says, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. He’s smiling, warm and fond. “I think there’s still good left in a lot of people around here, y’know. It’s too bad Dream and all this fighting has corrupted so much of it.”

There’s no good response to that, and so the comment is left to hang in the air and echo in their minds as they slowly retreat from the bench. Tommy tucks the disc away in his ender chest where it will remain until it is played again. He’s grinning, blue eyes bright with relief and hope. Tubbo can’t help but think that he hasn’t seen him this happy since the day they won their independence in the first place. 

* * *

Three knocks on each door is all it takes to draw the people of L’Manberg out of their homes. All of them are equipped with backpacks and satchels, each wearing their different pieces of their best armor to save room within their ender chests, all wearing mixed expressions of solemn anticipation. It isn’t long before they are all gathered on the main platforms above the crater, huddled close so that they can speak quietly. No one raises their voice. No one lights a torch - only the soft glow of the floating lanterns above are their to aid their vision.

( _Tubbo is reminded of the many nights he spent sneaking in and out of_ _Manberg_ _. He is reminded of the war, too, of slipping up to the battlements in the pre-dawn darkness to watch the stars and wait for any sign of an ambush_.)

Tubbo climbs up onto one of the chairs so that he can look over everyone’s head and count their numbers, making sure that they are all there. Karl is standing nearby, speaking quietly to Quackity, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he says his goodbyes to his friends. 

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Quackity asks.

“I can’t. I know Sapnap and George won’t give up on Dream yet, and I can’t leave them behind,” Karl says, shaking his head. “Maybe someday I’ll come find you.”

Tubbo tears his gaze away - the moment is not his to linger on - and glances over to find Ranboo watching him steadily. They exchange smiles. The hybrid teen has kept himself close to Niki and Fundy, all but hovering in between the two that have taken him under their wing. Fundy is rummaging through his bag, likely checking it for the hundredth time that evening, and Niki is quietly conversing with Puffy.

Tubbo will readily admit that he’d been a little surprised when Niki had opened her door and revealed the handful of people waiting with her. Puffy was expected; the two are close, and the sheep hybrid has more attachments to the people than the land, anyways. Eret was different - Tubbo isn’t exactly shocked that he’s ready to leave their home behind, too, after everything they have all been through, but seeing him dressed back in the outfit he’d worn before the first war was a bit of a shock to his system.

( _He’s mostly surprised at the rush of relief that he feels at the knowledge that Eret is coming, too. Tubbo hasn’t had a problem with Eret for a long time; trust would always be a complicated thing, but he had long since forgiven his former friend and ally for what he had done._ )

HBomb is probably the most surprising new addition. Tubbo hasn’t seen much of him since his first day here, but then, he has been busy ever since. He was hanging by Eret’s side, looking a little out of place but not apprehensive, and Tubbo figured that if Niki and the others trusted him, so could he.

Tommy has moved away from his spot by Tubbo’s side to talk to Phil, and with Jack Manifold waiting patiently nearby, his headcount is complete. Purpled hasn’t shown up, which is a little disappointing, but he can’t exactly force his friend to leave if he didn’t want to.

“Is everyone ready?” He asks, lifting his voice just loud enough to catch all of their attention. When he receives a round of nods and a few quiet murmurs of affirmation, he continues. “Once we’ve gone, we can’t come back.”

“We’re ready,” Fundy says, giving him a reassuring smile. He’s got a banner tied around his arm - one of the small L’Manberg flags that hang around their country. Niki has one, too. “Lead the way.”

Tubbo starts to step down off the chair and stops. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flicker of movement - there’s a gleam, not of torchlight but of enchanted armor, and he freezes, fear filling him. On instinct, he drops his hand flat in a clear, practiced motion, and both Fundy and Eret react to the old hand signal instantaneously, all but throwing those around them to the floor as they get down. Everyone else follows suit with varying levels of confusion, except for Phil and Tommy. While the former is already turning to follow Tubbo’s gaze, dark wings flaring out to further obscure those crouching down behind him, Tommy darts to his side instead of obeying the command. 

“Where?” He’s already pulling Tubbo off the chair by the time he speaks, his voice kept to a harsh whisper. This is good, because Tubbo hadn’t followed his signal, either, and standing over everyone was just asking to get shot. He points Tommy in the direction, and they both cautiously pick their way over to Phil’s side, peering out from around his wings. Tommy lifts his loaded crossbow.

For a moment, they are silent. Tubbo holds his breath, pressing down his fear ( _If Dream is here then it is over; if Dream is here, they are dead_.) and keeping his eyes trained on the darkness ahead of them.

“Hello?” The voice is easily recognizable, and his shoulders slump in relief at the sound. He steps forward, motioning for the others to stand down.

“Purpled?” He calls, and there’s a collective sigh of relief behind him. “Good grief, a little warning next time, please. You scared us.”

There’s a laugh in the darkness that is definitely _not_ the other teen’s, but Tubbo recognizes that, too, and it’s not one that worries him. Soon enough, both Purpled and Ponk are stepping into the dim light, and both of them look just as prepared for a long journey as the rest of them.

“So you decided, huh?” Tommy’s smiling as he puts his crossbow away, and Purpled returns it easily, giving him a nod. 

“Yeah. Ponk and I talked, and we figured-”

“There’s no real reason for us to stay.” Ponk finished. “I’ll miss the others, but the fighting’s never going to stop around here, you know? We’re ready to have a little bit of peace.”

“Aren’t we all?” Phil says, a small chuckle slipping out as he folded his wings neatly, shifting from his fighting stance into one that was almost relaxed. Behind him, the others were getting back up.

“We’re glad to have you.” Tubbo means it. He turns to the others, smiling slightly. “We should probably get moving before anyone we _don’t_ like shows up.”

( _His heart is still racing. He doesn’t think it will stop until they are far away, until they are somewhere safe, until he can collapse into a bed and sleep through the night without wondering if he will wake to find a new war brewing in his backyard._ )

He steps away from the group towards the end of the platform, and they follow. Tubbo has never felt like a leader, nor has he ever wanted to, but the fact that when he moves, they do, too, fills him with a confidence that he needs more than he knows. 

There’s a ladder at the edge of the platform. They take it in turns, climbing down into the crater beneath their homes, and Tubbo goes last. When he reaches the bottom he stumbles a little and Tommy is there to catch him, just like always. 

“This way,” Tubbo says, moving carefully through the debris. There is water beginning to collect in the deepest pits and crevices, reflecting fractured images of the platforms above them and the night sky, but the ground beneath their feet is dry enough. It doesn’t take him long to lead them to the spot he was looking for.

“The tunnel’s still here?” Quackity raises a brow in surprise as Tubbo pushes aside another boulder, opening the entrance just enough for them to get through. “I figured it collapsed in the explosion.”

“Part of it did. It still leads all the way to the ravine, though. We can use the Nether portal there if we want.” The thing about the people of the SMP is that half of them are insomniacs. They can’t risk running into anyone that they may not be able to trust, let alone Dream, and so they have to leave as little of a trail as possible. “I don’t exactly have a plan on where we’re going, but it’ll help get us farther away.”

“I know a place. It’ll be safe to spend the night, at least.” Phil says. He doesn’t look like he wants to clarify, and no one asks him to. 

“I’ll cover up your tracks when you leave.” Karl’s promise is sincere, solemn. Tubbo gives him a hug and promises to keep him updated. The others exchange their own farewells. 

( _There’s no reason left to stay but they are not ready to leave. Letting go is hard, not looking back is harder. Tubbo thinks of another myth, of Orpheus. He would go to Hades and back for his people, for his family, but keeping his eyes on their future without hesitation, without pausing to glance back, sounds like an impossible task. There are so many memories here that he is_ _afraid_ _to lose._ )

“Goodbye, L’Manberg,” Niki says, finally. Her voice is soft, her eyes are full of tears. “We’ll miss you, old friend.”

( _The thing about_ _L’Manberg_ _is that it was there for them when they needed it most. They were wanderers looking for a place to call their own and it was waiting for them. The thing about a nation is that once you spill your own blood for it there is no way to stop it from soaking into the soil and becoming part of the land. The thing about it is that it is a home. The thing about it is that it was their home. The thing is about it is -_ )

“It was never meant to be,” Tubbo whispers, lifting a hand to his temple in a salute. The others do, too.

* * *

**_In another world, maybe we would fight, and maybe we would win, but there has been too much blood spilled already and we will not sacrifice another drop. If you try to follow us or find us, we are not afraid to defend ourselves. We will fight to the death for each other, if that is what it takes, but we will not make the first move or throw the first punch._ **

It goes like this:

In a matter of hours, everything of value in L’Manberg is packed away. In a matter of minutes, the entire population has disappeared into the night. They leave no traces of their path to freedom, no sign of where they have gone. 

If one was to climb down into the crater beneath the homes of the nation, they would find a tunnel if they looked hard enough. If they found it soon enough and if they were to listen carefully, perhaps they would hear the sound of singing. 

( _The_ _lyrics aren’t quite the same as the original anthem. “It’s L’Manberg” was once changed to “My L’Manberg”, but the people settle on “Our L’Manberg”. Somewhere, a dead man listens, and shakes his head, and smiles. The spirit of their symphony lives on._ )

The next morning goes like this: when the sun rises, when a certain man makes his way down to the obsidian border he has begun to build, he finds the nation dead quiet and still. He is smart. He knows that something is off, that something is wrong, but he does not know what it is. He searches and he knocks on doors and when no one answers he backtracks, back down the path, a sinking suspicion growing steadily in the back of his mind. 

There’s a letter pinned neatly to the front entrance of a teenager’s home. 

He all but rips it down. He reads it.

He stops, looks around as if he expects this is a trap, as if he is waiting for someone to jump out and tell him it’s not real. No one does. He reads it again. And again.

He might have spent all morning reading it if someone had not stopped him.

“Dream.” The call of his name startles him, and he jerks his gaze away from the parchment to meet Sapnap’s eyes. They are familiar, questioning, full of hurt. George’s expression is much the same. They still have not made up. “I figured you'd be in L'Manberg already. What’s that?”

Dream says nothing. He holds the letter out and George is the one who takes it. He watches and waits as both of them read it. 

“Huh.” George glances up. There is so much disappointment there ( _in him, only in him_ ) that it hurts to look at. “Can’t really say that’s surprising, although I’m impressed they had the guts to do it. Good for them.”

And that hurts more, like a punch to the gut, because they were supposed to be on his side, weren’t they? Dream starts to open his mouth to retort, but Sapnap has finished reading it, too, and he shoves the letter back with a laugh.

“Are you happy now, Dream?” He asks, flinging a hand out to motion around them. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Sapnap, I-”

“ _No_.” Sapnap wouldn’t give him an inch. He’d always been stubborn. “Y’know, as much as you go on about Tommy causing problems for everyone, I think that you’re the bigger issue. Why does everything have to be a fight with you?”

“You’ve won the war,” George says, and somehow hearing the letter’s words from the mouth of someone he would have died for once ( _part of him wonders if he still would_ ), makes them so much worse. “Let it be over. Let them go and find a bit of peace.”

There’s a threat trailing at the end of his words, and Dream is already angry so he takes the bait.

“And if I don’t? If I hunt them down and drag them back here so we can actually finish things?”

“Then we’ll stop you.” Sapnap’s voice is steady. It’s a promise, and Dream knows he will keep it. He doesn’t say anything else; he turns and walks away, back towards his home, and George hesitates for a second.

“We would have followed you to the ends of the earth, you know.” There is sorrow there, too, a deep-set sort of grief that Dream doesn’t know how to soothe. He can’t fix this. “We had everything we wanted and you threw it all away because you were obsessed with power and control. I hope you’re satisfied.”

And then he walks away, and Dream can do nothing to stop him because he is the one who drove him away. He clutches the letter in his hands and when he glances down at it again his eyes catch on the final line, and his heart sinks as he realizes just what he’s done.

**_Congratulations, Dream. You’ve won the war_.**

( _The thing is, he doesn’t think he has._ )

* * *

It starts like this: two boys make a promise that will carry them for years to come. It will be their rallying point, their strength, their lighthouse in the darkest storm. 

( _Even if they have nothing, they have each other, and that is enough. They are enough._ )

It starts with a promise, and it ends with it, too.

( _In another world, perhaps, it ends differently. The boys are forced apart, separated, and the promise is broken, and so are they, because they need each other more than they know, more than they could ever hope to express. In another world, it ends the way the cycle always does - in destruction, in death. This is not that world. This is not their end._ )

It ends like this: Dream offers them two options that they cannot afford to take, and so they make their own way out. They remember the words of their late brother and take everything that matters - the people that they love - and they leave.

( _They’re all familiar with being backed into corners, with the feeling of adrenaline pumping through their veins. The thing about fight or flight is that there are two options, and even Dream cannot cut away these wings._ )

Two boys face the end of their world and they do not waver from their promise, and that is when the universe shifts. It sees them and hears them and loves them for their courage, and so the cycle of violence and destruction finally ends. 

( _The problem with the cycle is that it needs bloodshed to keep turning, and they have already lost enough. The problem with it is that it is a story written in crimson and theirs is not. The problem is that violence is a universal language but it is not the only one. Love is universal, too, and they choose it, instead._ )

It ends like this: Two boys make a promise that they intend to keep. They choose peace and love and always sticking together, so when their predecessors try to pass the torch onto them they stand their ground. They have given everything for this home and they hoped that they could build something beautiful, something that would last, but they can find a new home anywhere that they are together so they are not afraid to leave. 

( _A kingdom built at the doorstep of a dragon’s lair is destined to be burned to the ground, but they can build their kingdom elsewhere, far away where the dragon cannot reach, where it cannot hurt them._ )

Dream looks them in the eyes and demands that they choose and they say _no._

( _And they choose love_.)

And the cycle breaks. 

( _The thing about Tubbo and Tommy is that they will move mountains for each other if they have to. They will climb into the depths of Hades, fight off the Minotaur, hold up the sky, and defy Zeus himself if they have to. The thing about Tubbo and Tommy is that they have never cared about the odds. Inevitability is just a word. They will write their own future, their own fate, and it will always end with them, together._ )

And their promise lives on. 

( _And they do, too_.)


End file.
